


De Rigueur

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley's Century-Long Nap (Good Omens), Depressed Crowley (Good Omens), F/F, French Lesbians, Fucking gender- how does it work, Genderfluid Aziraphale (Good Omens), Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Vaginal Fisting, la belle époque
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 08:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20671976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: When Crowley wakes up, Aziraphale has a whole new style.





	De Rigueur

**Author's Note:**

> This story uses both she/her and he/him pronouns for Crowley and Aziraphale. Like 12 years ago I read an academic article about French lesbians in La Belle Époque and then I watched Good Omens four times and then *gestures vaguely around*.
> 
> Many thanks to aveari for helping me fix up my French!

When Crowley woke up, the nineteenth century had ticked over into the twentieth. This didn't really surprise him. He had been awfully tired, after all.

He made his way back to his flat, which was in a shocking state of disrepair; he used a month's worth of miracles to make it presentable again, but the effect was satisfactory. He'd need to do some things in terms of upgrades and cosmetic changes, but he didn't even know what they were yet. This was the problem with a long nap; fashion moved along while Crowley did not.

He was going to want to leave the flat at some point, which necessitated looking the part. Crowley watched out his window for a while at the men passing. He manifested some clothes, adjusting them here and there as he took the sum of what fashion seemed to be these days. It seemed a bit boring and not radically different than the last time he'd woken up. That was one of the reasons he'd gone to sleep; there was too much going on, but at the same time, it seemed to move glacially slowly. He just wanted to wake up and find the whole thing over with, if he woke up at all.

He found that he couldn't really avoid going to the bookshop; it wasn't far away, and his legs seemed to keep pointing him that direction, like the bookshop was a lodestone. The streets around him had changed dramatically, but not so much that he was lost. He didn't even know if he could get lost, at this point, not when that was his destination.

At length, he arrived. A woman stood in front of the shop; Crowley knew instantly that it was Aziraphale, despite the woman being covered in lace and ruffles, waist cinched in tight and forced into the odd curve that Crowley had seen on other women passing by. Crowley would know Aziraphale through three feet of lead, so a little bit of gauze and some extra curves were absolutely nothing.

The current fashion called for a baggy look about the chest, masking the decolletage, but Aziraphale's tits were not cooperating in the slightest. Crowley had pegged this decade as one of the ones where he couldn't quite fathom why anyone looked sexually attractive to anyone else, but Aziraphale was changing his mind.

Crowley's heart thumped uncomfortably in his chest.

"I hope your brother returns soon," the man speaking to Aziraphale said, and the way he said it sounded genuine, anxious. "We do so miss him."

"He's on the mend, and the doctors tell me he's doing marvelously," Aziraphale assured him. "I have no doubt he'll make a full recovery."

"Please give him my dearest regards," the man said. He lifted Aziraphale's hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "I hope to see you both soon."

With that, he took his leave, which was fine with Crowley. He sidled up to Aziraphale, who was still looking the other direction.

"How's things, angel?" Crowley said, and Aziraphale gasped, whirling around to face him.

"Crowley?!" Aziraphale said, not sounding as pleased as Crowley would have hoped.

"Miss Fell, I presume?" Crowley asked. Sometime during Classical Antiquity, they'd made what was at the time a gentlemen's agreement to treat gender, theirs and everybody else's, in the most expedient way possible. Humans changed the rules every ten minutes, and most angels and demons made no effort to stay au courant. So if Aziraphale had decided to be a woman presently, then a woman Aziraphale was.

"Please," Aziraphale said.

"Anything for a lady," Crowley said. "Tempt you to lunch? You'll have to show me what's new."

"It's- it's not that simple," Aziraphale said, wringing her hands.

Just then, the door opened, and a young woman stepped out. She was dressed much like Aziraphale and very beautiful; her black hair was elaborately styled underneath her hat, contrasting Aziraphale's. They looked nice together, a set, almost like-

Oh, no.

"Ma petite Pomme," she said, linking her arm with Aziraphale's. "Tu es prête?" She looked Crowley up and down, with a kind of disdain that very quickly told him everything he needed to know.

"Un moment, chérie," Aziraphale said; her French had gotten considerably better. "Il y a un-" She trailed off. "Un moment, s'il te plaît."

The girl let Aziraphale go, giving Crowley another dirty look. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the elbow in a way that was not at all fond, opening the door of the bookshop and pulling him inside.

"Pomme?" Crowley said, raising an eyebrow, when they were alone.

"I'm allowed to have a nickname," Aziraphale said. "What are you doing here?"

"I can't come see an old friend?" Crowley asked.

"We're not friends," Aziraphale said automatically. "I don't know why you think I'd be happy with you."

"Come on, angel," Crowley said. "We had one disagreement thirty years ago, and this is what I get? Let's just have lunch. You can bring your friend. My treat."

"I'm afraid that's quite impossible," Aziraphale said. "We're leaving for Paris. I was only here for a few days to take care of some business affairs."

"On behalf of your ailing brother?" Crowley said.

"Oh, don't pretend you've never posed as a relative," Aziraphale said.

"Never said I hadn't," Crowley said. "What's got you so angry at me anyway?"

"I don't have time for this," Aziraphale said. Her features may have been soft and feminine, her hands small and deft, but she shoved Crowley out of her bookshop with a strength entirely befitting a soldier of the Almighty God. 

Once they were out, Aziraphale decisively locked the door and took her companion's arm. "Et maintenant, allons-y," she told the young woman, smiling brightly at her, and they walked away, stepping into a carriage that was waiting nearby. Crowley watched the carriage go until it rounded a corner and disappeared.

"Well that was a hell of a thing," Crowley said, then proceeded to find somewhere to get raging drunk.

He did, and then he checked in with the higher ups- the lower downs?- and then he stole some church bells and a water pump for various reasons, and then he woke up at home. Quite obviously, his next step was to go to Paris. Aziraphale had a head start, but as far as Crowley was concerned, they still had unfinished business.

That he couldn't quite articulate what that business was was immaterial. It was also immaterial that Crowley hadn't spoken French in over a hundred years, didn't know where Aziraphale was, and couldn't say for sure whether Aziraphale's cute French girlfriend was actually Aziraphale's cute French girlfriend. He'd deal with those things when he came to them.

Once in Paris, Crowley began the hunt immediately. He'd been around humanity long enough to know how to find people who knew people who did things; people who did the things he was looking for were generally his kind of people anyway. An afternoon of pointed enquiries, and he found himself standing in front of a bar that was doing its best to be completely inconspicuous. It was inconspicuous in the kind of way that said everything to Crowley.

The bar was mostly empty, two men off in a corner deep in conversation, and a large man stood behind the bar proper. He looked like he could snap Crowley in half, but in a genial way. This was definitely the right place.

"Bienvenue, mon ami," the barman said, setting down the glass he'd been cleaning. "Vous _êtes_ mon ami, n'est pas?"

"Oh, almost certainly," Crowley said. He held up a coin. "But today, I'm looking for a Miss Fell."

"The English Miss Fell?" the man said. "La Pomme?"

"Ah, yes," Crowley said, a little bewildered at Aziraphale's reach. It wasn't like she'd sold Paris some false bill of goods; Aziraphale was female, in this form. If she had failed to disclose anything, it was that she had a very miffed demon waiting in the wings who didn't like it when other people touched her. 

This was a thing Crowley had not disclosed to Aziraphale. It hadn't mattered before now.

"I have an urgent message from her brother," Crowley lied. "He's ill, you know."

The barman looked uncomfortable. "You can find her chez Emile avec, ah, the other, ah, c'est-à-dire-"

"Emile's, got it," Crowley said, dropping the coin and two more into his hand. "I wasn't asking about her."

"But of course," he said; the money seemed like it made him much more at ease. "Mais pardonnez-moi, you won't get in. They are particular about the clientele."

"Not a problem," Crowley said. "I'm going to send my sister."

"You may not get her back," he said, with a little grin. "French women get what they want."

"Then my sister will fit right in," Crowley said, rapping on the bar and taking his leave.

Crowley had a plan. It was a stupid plan. It was a brilliant plan. It was at the very least going to get him in front of Aziraphale, and then he'd make a better plan. Or another stupid one. The point was, he had a lot of things in the works, and he wasn't leaving France without at least having an audience with the person he'd come all the way to France for.

He'd have gone any distance, but that was immaterial.

\--

The door to Emile's- the _real_ door, the one you had to be shown to, the one that stood behind the bar and only select patrons were allowed into- opened, the barman extending an arm to lead a guest in. He shut the door behind her immediately; he was utterly uninterested in anything that happened in the back room, and indeed, everyone in the back room was utterly uninterested in him.

They were, however, interested in the woman who had just walked in. She wore a suit sharper than a pin, hugging her curves tightly before flaring out into a bell below her knees. The whole affair was bottle green, with black embellishments that only served to highlight the clean lines of her body. The heels of her boots clicked sharply against the floor, in a way that it had taken her time to learn. You couldn't threaten someone with your high heels without really practicing it.

Because if Aziraphale was going to leave Crowley to take up with a pack of French lesbians, then Crowley was going to be the most beautiful, most desireable, most striking goddamned lesbian that France had ever seen.

She'd walked into a room of women in tea gowns or less, and the effect was not unlike a shark in a herd of sheep. Aziraphale was in the middle of them, in a flatteringly low-cut pale yellow gown, smiling indulgently at the woman next to her- who, it didn't escape Crowley's notice, wasn't the same woman from the shop. Aziraphale looked at peace, and Crowley, for a split-second, felt guilty that she'd come to interrupt it.

Crowley had already drawn attention, but that was the whole point of the exercise. She adjusted her gloves just so, a movement that drew attention to her slender wrists, not that all of her wasn't slender. She distinctly heard the whisper of "C'est Madame Crowley, non?" which gave him a whole new suite of questions she didn't even know she didn't have answers to.

Crowley let her heels click against the floor as she walked over to Aziraphale, who glanced up as she approached.

"Bonjour, angel," Crowley said, in a soft Scottish accent, France being far enough from Scotland that it sounded charmingly different instead of déclassé.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, looking, at best, annoyed.

"The very same," Crowley said. "Though I'm not sure how my reputation preceded me after only a few days in France."

"It was much less complicated if I told them you were a woman," Aziraphale said.

Crowley frowned. "I don't see why you told them about me at all."

"Yes, well," Aziraphale said, which wasn't an explanation whatsoever.

There was a commotion across the room, two of the ladies holding back a third, all of them speaking in French too rapid for Crowley to understand. The one being restrained broke away, the other two helpless to stop her, giving each other "We tried" looks.

The woman stalked over to where Crowley was standing, giving her a look that would have frozen boiling water. Then she hauled off and slapped Crowley full across the face.

"The nerve you have," she said angrily. "You broke the heart of notre Pomme and here you are to play with her again."

"Er," Crowley said.

"Camille, attends un moment," Aziraphale pleaded. "Je peux expliquer-"

"Non," Camille said fiercely. "You think I would let this putain step on you another time?" She lapsed into French so filthy that Crowley couldn't understand most of it, but she easily got the gist.

"My reputation did precede me," Crowley said, blinking.

"You're a bit unpopular," Aziraphale said, which felt like a massive understatement. She sighed. She put a hand on Camille's arm. "Je suis vraiment désolée. C'est-" she made a gesture with her arm. "C'est compliqué. C'est _trop_ compliqué, mais-" She sighed, shrugging.

"You hurt her, I kill you," Camille said, her finger in Crowley's face, and Crowley had no doubt that she was completement sérieuse.

No one else had said anything, but Crowley was keenly aware that she was being watched. She realized then that the disadvantage of being a shark in among sheep is that the sheep had the upper hand in both numbers and familiarity with the terrain. If they wanted to trample her, they could.

"Come to my hotel and we'll discuss this," Aziraphale said, looking unhappy at the prospect.

"A bientôt, mesdames," Crowley said, unable to help herself, as she followed Aziraphale out.

Aziraphale didn't speak to Crowley on the way to her lodgings; she didn't even deign to _look_ at Crowley. Crowley wanted to whine about it, but for now she was choosing her battles. She could whine later. She probably would whine later.

Aziraphale smiled sweetly as she was shown into the hotel, which was predictably nice, and Crowley just trailed along behind her, until they were safely tucked away in Aziraphale's rooms. Aziraphale still didn't look at Crowley, pulling out her hatpin and setting the hat down on the table by the door.

"I think I hurt your feelings," Crowley said, which was for her incredibly self-aware.

"Why would I have feelings?" Aziraphale said, struggling with the buttons on her glove instead of looking at Crowley's face. "Angels don't have feelings. All they feel is a general love for all- oh will you take this blasted glove off?"

Crowley took Aziraphale's hand in hers, undoing the glove and sliding it off. She reached for Aziraphale's other hand, but Aziraphale didn't give it to her, taking off her second glove herself.

"I would have expected to find you in amongst some like-minded Englishmen," Crowley said, ignoring that it stung a little.

"I was, for a while," Aziraphale said. "They were, I don't know, ultimately a military bunch, and eventually I found it grating. Here we talk mostly about philosophy and food. Escapism is en vogue at the moment."

"Sounds very French and very you," Crowley said. "I didn't even think you liked women."

"There are things to recommend them," Aziraphale said vaguely.

"It looks like you recommend them highly," Crowley said. "You certainly seem very cozy with les femmes françaises."

"Don't you dare," Aziraphale said flatly.

"What did I say?" Crowley said. "I wasn't insinuating anything."

"You have no right to judge me," Aziraphale said, because Crowley definitely had been insinuating everything. "After the stunt you pulled, you're lucky I've deigned to speak to you at all."

"What did I do?" Crowley said. "I didn't do anything."

"You came to me for a suicide pill, and then you were just gone," Aziraphale said.

"I didn't-" Crowley started.

"Will you be quiet?" Aziraphale snapped. "I thought the worst had happened. I thought you'd found a way to end it all anyway. It was two years before I found you."

"You found me?" Crowley said, surprised.

"Honestly, Crowley," Aziraphale said disapprovingly. "Sleeping in a vault like some cut-rate ghoul?"

"I just wanted to be left alone," Crowley protested. It had been a little extreme, but it was cost-effective and involved far fewer people asking questions.

"And I did," Aziraphale said. "You'd made me so frightened, but then I was furious." Her face crumpled. "Then I was just distraught."

"So, what, you fell in with the humans?" Crowley said. "How many of them?"

"The humans _wanted_ me," Aziraphale fired back. "They were kind and interested. They saw me as one of their own and took me in. You weren't willing to do any of that."

Crowley hadn't been willing to do much; Aziraphale was not wrong about that. She didn't want to kill herself, despite what Aziraphale believed. She just wanted to be dead. Aziraphale, in this emotional state and indeed any emotional state, would not appreciate that distinction. "You could have asked."

"Don't insult my intelligence by pretending it would have changed anything," Aziraphale said coldly.

"How can you possibly know that?" Crowley said. "You never said a word, and now it's my fault? If you want something, you have to say so. It was never a problem for you before. It certainly wasn't a problem with all your French girls."

"If you're going to call me a s-slut, just do it," Aziraphale said, stumbling on the word. "Maybe if you hadn't- if you-" A tear fell down Aziraphale's cheek; she was one of the rare people who cried prettily, but it snapped Crowley's heart in half to watch her do it. "You _left_ me, all alone, and now you're here, and you're blaming me for it."

Crowley couldn't do a thing but pull Aziraphale to her, hold her close. "I'm sorry, angel," Crowley said, Aziraphale's face pressed against her shoulder. "I did you wrong. I'm so sorry."

"It's my fault," Aziraphale said, muffled against Crowley's suit. "I should have watched you more closely. I shouldn't have let you get so low."

"Don't be sorry for something you couldn't have stopped," Crowley said. "I would have just pushed you away."

Aziraphale laughed, even though it was half a sob. "A fine pair we make."

"I don't know how to apologize," Crowley said.

"You never have, so I don't expect you to start now," Aziraphale said, and it wasn't funny, but Crowley laughed.

And then they were just standing there, sharing the same space, a tenuous kind of feeling between them, and Crowley didn't have the first clue what to do. She knew what she wanted, but perhaps just after basically accusing Aziraphale of being a slut wasn't the best time to come on to her. It also didn't seem right to make Aziraphale break the tension, for the same reason. Maybe they'd stand there for an age and then part, leaving them both no less alone than when this started.

"Fuck it," Crowley said, because that sounded like torture, and bent down to kiss her.

"Are you sure?" Aziraphale asked, though she kissed Crowley again.

"Sure as I ever get," Crowley said. Aziraphale put her arms around Crowley's neck, holding her in place so that Crowley couldn't move away again, had to let Aziraphale keep kissing her. It wasn't exactly a hardship; she didn't know how many times she'd thought about this, imagined the two of them together, in every form they could muster.

"I missed you so much," Aziraphale said, as Crowley kissed down her jaw, gently nipping at her earlobe.

"You have no idea," Crowley said, because there was an Aziraphale-shaped ache in her that even thirty years' sleep hadn't ameliorated.

"I didn't picture you when I was with them," Aziraphale said, laying a hand on the side of Crowley's face, and it didn't hurt as much as Crowley expected. "But I always pictured you when I was alone."

"Get me out of this corset and show me what you thought about," Crowley said, starting on the buttons of her jacket.

It had taken a miracle to get Crowley into her suit and corset unassisted, but between the two of them, they were doing okay. The coat and skirt and shirt were easy, leaving Crowley still, by standards of other eras, more than fully clothed.

"Allow me," Aziraphale said, running her hand down Crowley's back, and the laces of the corset untied themselves and loosened, the pressure on Crowley's body easing all at once. Crowley sighed, undoing the busk and letting Aziraphale take the whole thing off. It left her in her underthings, which there were a lot of, certainly more than Crowley wanted to deal with.

"Do you mind if I just-" Crowley said, indicating her body. "This is very intimate, but we could be much more intimate."

"You never change," Aziraphale said, which wasn't a no, and Crowley's clothing appeared on the other side of the room, neatly arranged to be put back on. Aziraphale pulled her close, her skin rubbing against the silk of Aziraphale's dress, and Crowley leaned down and kissed her. Aziraphale melted against her, exactly how Crowley hoped she would; she wanted the two of them to melt together entirely, be fused into one thing, so that this would never have to happen again.

Comparatively, Aziraphale was lightly attired, not even wearing a corset, and it was easy to get her out of all of it, until she and Crowley were naked together, nothing separating them. Aziraphale laughed in surprise as Crowley hoisted her up, throwing Aziraphale over her shoulder and carrying her to her boudoir.

"Please be serious," Crowley said.

"I'll try to show some decorum," Aziraphale said, and she laughed again as Crowley smacked her on the ass.

Crowley laid her out on the bed and climbed in after her. Aziraphale had, as she almost always did when she was like this, a magnificent set of breasts, and Crowley cupped them in her hands, lifting them so she could get Aziraphale's nipple into her mouth. Aziraphale groaned in pleasure, her hand coming up to rest on the back of Crowley's head.

"Why must you always go straight for my breasts?" Aziraphale asked.

"They were pointed right at me," Crowley said, sucking hard, her teeth scraping against the sensitive skin. Despite her protests, Aziraphale did nothing to stop her, letting Crowley have her fill, leaving kisses and bites all over Aziraphale's pale skin before making her way downwards. Aziraphale had a little belly, the kind of softness a corset would cruelly erase, and Crowley kissed that too.

"Is this good?" Crowley asked.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale said, in a tone that did something fluttery to Crowley's insides. Instead of examining it, she eased Aziraphale's legs apart. The sight was almost too much; Aziraphale's cunt was like the rest of her, pink and pretty; her hair was a shade darker here, and Crowley ran her fingers through it just to feel the wiry strands of it, already damp at the edges with how wet Aziraphale was.

"You look good enough to eat," Crowley said, and Aziraphale huffed and rolled her eyes, as Crowley thought she might do. Crowley didn't see what she did next, because it was altogether too tempting; she had to get her mouth on Aziraphale as quickly as possible, and she did. Aziraphale cried out as she sucked Aziraphale's clit into her mouth, not too much but enough to prove that Crowley meant business. 

"Darling," Aziraphale sighed. "Oh, my dear, yes."

Crowley only hummed in affirmation, the vibration of it moving through Aziraphale's body too. Aziraphale was already soaked, and Crowley pushed two fingers in easily, sliding them in and out quickly.

"More," Aziraphale moaned, and Crowley looked up at her.

"How much more, dear?" Crowley asked.

"_More_," Aziraphale repeated. Crowley added another finger, and Aziraphale gave out an intoxicating little "ah!" and pushed back against Crowley's hand.

"Look how much your body wants mine," Crowley said, her little finger pressing into Aziraphale too. "I could fit my whole fist inside you." Aziraphale gasped, a delicious, surprised sound. "Is that what you want, angel?"

"Don't tease me, Crowley," she whined.

"When I'm teasing you, you'll know it," Crowley said. "If you want it, I'll give it to you."

"Please," Aziraphale said. "Please, I want all of you."

Crowley eased her hand out Aziraphale, needing to adjust. She brought her fingers together, her hand miraculously slick as she started to push into Aziraphale again.

"Faster," Aziraphale gasped.

"No," Crowley said, still pushing in slowly. Maybe rushing sounded like a good idea to Aziraphale, but Crowley was compos mentis enough to realize it really, really wasn't. "Tell me if it hurts."

"Just hurry it up," Aziraphale said, pushing back against her.

"If you won't behave, I'll stop," Crowley said, and Aziraphale huffed but obeyed, settling down. Crowley's fingers slipped inside, her thumb tucked into them, but she was at the widest part of her hand now. "Relax and let me in."

Aziraphale spread her legs wider. "I'm waiting for you, dear." She groaned as Crowley's knuckles pushed into her, but she took them, her body spreading for Crowley's.

"Look at that," Crowley said, unable to keep the wonder out of her voice. "Does it hurt?"

"It feels extraordinary," Aziraphale panted. "Don't stop now."

Crowley pushed in deeper, letting her fingers curl into a fist as her hand sunk in. Aziraphale took it beautifully, and suddenly Crowley was in her fully, her cunt tight and hot around Crowley's hand. "There, darling," Crowley said, stroking Aziraphale's thigh with her other hand.

Aziraphale pushed herself up on her elbows. "Is it-" Her head dropped back as Crowley moved her hand, the slightest rocking motion but enough to send shudders through Aziraphale.

"You're taking me all the way up to my wrist," Crowley said, rocking her hand again, as gently as she could manage it. "You look perfect like this, angel."

"Oh, dearest," Aziraphale breathed. "Move, please, I need you so much."

Crowley had no idea how much movement was too much movement; she did it a little faster, Aziraphale so slick that it was easier than she'd thought it would be. Aziraphale pushed back against her, needing more, so Crowley gave it to her.

"How does it feel?" Crowley asked, turned on and fascinated in equal measure.

"It's- everywhere at once," Aziraphale said, her usual articulation gone. "So full. So full of _you_, my dear."

"Can you come like this?" Crowley said, moving her hand faster.

"Yes," Aziraphale said. "Yes, please, just give me a little more." Crowley dared to press the smallest bit deeper, moving her fist farther every time, and Aziraphale's back bowed. "Like that," she gasped. "Crowley-"

"Come on," Crowley said, and she could feel Aziraphale's body tensing, like she was getting very close. She thumbed Aziraphale's clit with her free hand, and that was it, everything that it took to make Aziraphale shake to pieces. Crowley could feel it around her hand, the rhythmic clench of her orgasm, and it felt miraculous, improbable, too much by far. Crowley swore she could feel her cunt throb in sympathy, but perhaps it was just need.

Aziraphale finally collapsed against the bed, panting heavily. "My word," she breathed.

Aziraphale felt looser around Crowley's fist, though Crowley didn't know if it was going to help all that much. "Should I take it out?"

"_Very_ slowly," Aziraphale said.

"Deep breaths," Crowley said, working her hand free as gently as she could do it. Aziraphale grimaced when the widest part of it passed through, but soon Crowley was sliding her fingers out. She was wet halfway down her forearm, and she absolutely couldn't resist having a taste, licking along the inside of her wrist, enjoying the flavor of Aziraphale, entirely Earthly, nothing of the metallic tang of Heaven in it.

"I'm afraid I'm quite spent," Aziraphale said, and Crowley was prepared to go without until she finished with, "so if you'd be so good as to ride my face."

"I don't know how you get by in Paris being so painfully English," Crowley said.

"Just get up here," Aziraphale said, and Crowley went, waiting for Aziraphale to find a comfortable spot on the pillows before straddling her head. Aziraphale pulled her down immediately, pressing her mouth full against Crowley's cunt. Her tongue darted out, flicking over Crowley's clit; Aziraphale was shameless when she did this, attacking it like any other meal, with full gusto. 

Crowley grabbed onto the headboard for dear life, all of it too much entirely. If she thought about everything that had happened, she'd break, come apart. Instead she focused on Aziraphale's mouth against her, which was going to make her break in an entirely different way. She knew she must be getting slick all over Aziraphale's face, as wet as she was, and there was no way to stop it even if she'd wanted to. This was happening now, after so long of nothing happening to Crowley at all.

Crowley shouted when she came, grinding down hard against Aziraphale's face without really meaning to, but Aziraphale wasn't fazed. She kept licking and sucking, not letting up, and Crowley stayed put. Aziraphale brought her over the edge again, what seemed like moments later, Crowley's whole body trembling with it, completely overwhelmed.

Crowley finally made Aziraphale turn her loose, dismounting and collapsing onto the bed next to her. Aziraphale licked her lips lazily, like she was chasing Crowley's taste, and Crowley just had to kiss her, slow and lingering and trying to say what she was never going to be able to express, even if Aziraphale would have actually listened.

"Why do they call you Apple, anyway?" Crowley asked, breaking the warm silence that had settled over them.

Aziraphale blushed. "I believe it's because they find me fair, sweet, and toothsome."

"They're not wrong," Crowley said.

"They really do hate you," Aziraphale said apologetically.

"What did you tell them?" Crowley asked.

"Not the truth, obviously," Aziraphale said. "Mostly that you ran off. I'm afraid the way I said it made my feelings on the subject clear."

"I suppose I did run off," Crowley said, lacing her fingers into Aziraphale's. "I'd rather run off with you."

"That's quite impossible, given that we are enemies and not supposed to be associating at all," Aziraphale said, which hurt the way it always did, even though Crowley knew that deep down, she didn't mean it. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

_I'll talk you into it one of these days,_ Crowley thought but didn't say. In point of fact, she never said it, though she never stopped meaning it.

\--

"Crowley, dear," Aziraphale says, one Sunday morning, after the world doesn't end. Aziraphale says it a lot, but something is off about his tone.

"Angel," Crowley says, watching him curiously.

"I wondered if you might, ah," Aziraphale says.

"If I might what?" Crowley says.

"If you might want to, you know," Aziraphale says, making a nervous-looking gesture. "Go to Paris with me, if you follow."

Crowley frowns. "If I follow? What's complicated about going to Paris?"

"Not, um," Aziraphale says. "Not literally, physically go to Paris. It's just- well. When I was living there, and you came to find me, and, ah, things occurred, and-"

"Are you trying to ask me to fist you?" Crowley says, and it takes all of his strength not to crack up.

"Um," Aziraphale says. "Yes, as it happens."

"That was the most roundabout way anybody has ever asked to be fisted in the history of the act," Crowley says, unable to keep from grinning.

"Oh, quiet, you," Aziraphale says, blushing.

"No, by all means, let's go to Paris," Crowley says. He grabs Aziraphale by the waist, kissing his neck. "I assure you that La Pomme still knows the way."

"You're awful," Aziraphale says.

"Thank you for noticing," Crowley says, slipping his hand underneath Aziraphale's waistband. "Let me take you away from all this, mon cher."

"I'll settle for letting you take me," Aziraphale says.

"That's a start," Crowley says, and Aziraphale drags him along to the bedroom.

And they do, indeed, go to Paris, figuratively speaking. Both of them. It's not quite running away, but by now, there's time.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] De Rigueur by sabinelagrande](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22141117) by [CompassRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompassRose/pseuds/CompassRose)


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